Soverato
by SophieDevereauxtoo
Summary: havIt has been suggested that Sophie and Tara have been more than friends for a long time. This is the first story in a series that I have written to show the evolution of their relationship from the time they met to the present. This piece is written from Tara's POV and is a companion to Sophie's story, Kephalonia. Comments and constructive criticism and more than welcome.


Sovorato Italy. 1997.

I love Italy. I love the coast of Italy even more. The sun. The sand. The blue blue water. The millionaires. The yachts. I especially love the yachts.

I check myself in the mirror. Damn I look good. I love to swim and these last few weeks swimming naked in the warm coastal waters on Italy's southeastern coast have toned up my already muscular body. My skin is tanned and my long hair is golden with streaks of blinding white. I know what my appearance does to others, male and female alike. I count on it. This is my game and I consider myself to be one of the best.

I put on a blue sundress, perfectly colored to bring out the blue in my eyes. The dress is cut low in the front and short in the hem. Very short. Long legs and short skirts have always worked well for me. Strings of sparkling diamond earrings, a bit of lipstick and my highest heels and I am ready to work. I glance in the mirror again. Damn Tara. I could probably con myself in this outfit.

A look this casually fabulous takes a lot of work and, as usual, I am running late. I've had my eye on a handsome young Greek with a big wallet and an even bigger boat. I want that boat. I will look amazing on that boat.

I dash out the door of my villa and down the road to the local watering hole, an adorable little wine bar on the cliffs over- looking the ocean. It's where the beautiful go and I am beautiful. Who isn't in Sovorato? It's not Portofino or one of the other playgrounds of the celebrities and the attention hunters. I want to be where the real people go. Where the millionaires and billionaires take their old money out to vacation. They're men who are not afraid to spend their money on what they want. What they frequently want is me. I am not interested in having my picture taken on the arm of People Magazine's most sexy. In fact I would prefer that I not be photographed at all. Not that I don't take an amazing picture. I do. I just don't want to leave records of where I've been and who I've been with. That would not be good in my line of work. Not good at all

My Greek is here. He's been here every night this week. He's here looking for me. Normally I prefer the short con but this one has needed some special handling. He's young and he's rich and he's very good looking. Women have been throwing themselves at him since he was a teen and he's skittish. We've flirted. I've shown him peeks of what's underneath the wrapping and he's definitely interested in opening the package. But I'm not that easy. Not yet.

I've been conspicuously absent the last few evenings but still watching. Always watching. No way is some new hotsie totsie going to take advantage of my hard work. Tonight I will close the deal. I will look fabulous tomorrow sunning myself on the deck of that yacht. I will dive naked from the bridge in to the warm water while my Greek struts with pride and all of the others drool with jealousy. He will buy me things. Beautiful sparkling things in a variety of colors. I look just as good in rubies and emeralds as I do in diamonds. And then I will be gone. He will go back to Greece with a story and a life time's worth of wet dreams and I will find me a new millionaire looking for someone to spend his money on. Of course having a fabulous yacht never hurts his chances.

With a flick of my hair I slide into the seat next to my Greek. My hair lands softly on his shoulder. He is startled. He never has seen me coming. "Pour me some wine" I ask in my broken Italian. He looks around the room to make sure that everyone sees him with me. I don't need to look. I already know. We talk. We laugh. My hand is moving ever so slowly up his thigh. He is starting to get antsy. I can see the perspiration starting to form over his strong Greek nose. I think it's cute and I lean close to wipe it away. The deal is done. Tonight we will go back to his yacht. Tomorrow we will swim and drink. Too much for him. Just enough for me. The next day we will shop. I will make him very happy and he will return the favor.

I sigh with contentment and he takes this as permission and slowly kisses me. Tonight is amazing. I can't imagine any other life than this.

We sit close and whisper our plans for the weekend while we drink our wine. It's expensive. I know that much but wine has never been my thing. I prefer something with a kick, but not when I am working of course. This grift calls for wine and I indulge, just enough for a nice buzz but not enough to lose control. I never lose control. I am always in control.

The sun is slowly setting over the beautiful landscape and we watch it together. Soon we will leave. Soon I will get what I've come for.

I have my back to the door, my full attention on the Greek. Suddenly the temperature of the room changes. It's just a minute change but it distracts me. I glance at my Greek and he is completely unaware. I try to ignore the feeling. I try to focus back on my work. I can't afford to be distracted. Not now. Not ever. If I'm not on top of my game, it's not just my con that is at risk. It could be my like. I like my life. I like my Greek. Why can't I focus on my Greek?

I whisper in his ear "it's time to go Love". He drains his wine as his face reddens with anticipation. He thinks he is about to have the night of his life. I will let him think that. He will reward me greatly for it. We are very close as we stand and turn to leave the bar. I can't let him think of anything but me right now. I slide my hand low on his back as I steer him toward the door. Over his shoulder I catch a flash of light from across the room and again I am distracted. What the hell Tara? Slowly, unwillingly my eyes are pulled toward the light. There is a woman there. Her back is to me but I can tell she is dressed to the nines in a bright red dress that is stretched just tight enough over her ribs. A million tiny diamonds wrap around her neck. She is sitting with one of the millionaires, no wait, he's a billionaire and he has a very large yacht. She tosses her hair with a small laugh and covers his hand with hers. A flash of jealously moves through me. Is this woman on a con? I've never seen her before. I would remember her. Is a new woman working my honey pot? Well we're going to have to do something about that. Tomorrow. I have work to do tonight. The woman tosses her long black hair again and I catch a glimpse of her face. My heart skips a beat. She is gorgeous. Not at all like my athletic sexiness that make men, and most women, wonder what I can do in bed. No this woman is classically gorgeous. She's thin but her lines are softer, less angular than mine. She's probably shorter too. Definitely shorter and by more than a few inches. Her eyes are jet black like her hair and when she laughs those eyes sparkle as bright as the diamonds laying across her olive skin. She could be Greek. Maybe Italian. Definitely Southern European. I feel as though I am staring though it's only been a second. She is unaware of my presence, completely wrapped up in her billionaire. Another flash of jealousy. I don't like that. I don't like it at all. I am used to everyone in the room focusing on me. Control. The billionaire notices me but he's trying to concentrate on the woman. He's not finding it all that difficult. The woman laughs and flips her hair one more time. She has no idea I am here. Control.

My Greek feels my hesitation even if it's for only a split second and he squirms. I drag my eyes from the dark eyed lady and back to him. Control. I am back in control. I am always in control. Well at least as far as the Greek is concerned. I am still shaken by my falter.

The Greek has had too much wine. I know that. I encouraged that. I let him kiss me and roam his hands around my back until his eyes droop and he falls to sleep. I pull off just enough of his clothing to suggest what might have happened. It was wonderful he will be sure. He wishes he hadn't had so much wine. He wishes he could remember. He will fill in the details anyway. Good night my Love. It really was a wonderful night.

I wake not long after the sun comes up. The Greek is already gone. I decide to take advantage of the quiet morning and I do some stretches on the deck. I climb to the highest edge of the yacht. I drop the little bit I am wearing and dive out into the blue of the ocean. I make a perfect arc as I stretch myself to my full length before slicing into the cool water. I swim along the row of yachts tied to their moorings. I dream of which one I would like to be seen on next. I propel my body in and out of the water like a dolphin. I idly wonder if anyone is watching. If they are, I hope that they are enjoying the show. I swim effortlessly back to my yacht. It is time to work. The Greek is back on board. He is busy with something. He is clearly excited about it whatever it is.

I duck below deck and slip on a white swimsuit that accentuates my long lines and tanned body and covers nothing much at all. I add a wispy white cover-up and the heels. Always wear the heels. Well, except for when swimming of course. I step out onto the deck of my yacht and stretch indulgently, a glass of champagne in one hand and a strawberry I stole from the galley in another. I slide up to the Greek sucking on my strawberry and rub myself against his side. Nothing wrong with a bit of positive reinforcement to keep him on track. Nothing wrong at all.

My Greek is throwing a party. He wants to show me off. He's invited most of the millionaires and a few of the billionaires. My mind flashes to the dark eyed woman. Will she be here? Do I want her to be here? A party is a perfect time to suss out my next mark. Find out who has money to spend on a little fling. Have him point out his yacht. Tease him a little with a promise of what may come. God I hope the dark eyed woman will be here.

I spend my morning swimming in the sea and sunbathing on my yacht. I watch my Greek, making sure he's appreciating my efforts. We're almost through with the dance but we still have the shopping to do. My thoughts wander once again to the dark eyed woman. I only got a glimpse of her. I'm not even sure she was real. What is wrong with me? I'm off my game. This is not like me at all. Control. I need to control myself.

The party guests start to arrive along with several large cases of expensive Italian wine. Nothing less than the best when money has no real meaning to you I suppose. I put on my hostess/sexy girlfriend dress and paste a smile and go to greet my guests. I kiss the women's cheeks and show flashes of illicit skin to the men. There are many more men than women. I like my odds. I catch myself watching for the dark eyed woman. She's not coming. I don't think she really exists and yet I look anyway. I don't see the billionaire either.

The guests have all boarded and the captain pushes away from the dock. The wine is flowing and the music is loud. The Greek is busy with his friends. My body moves with the music. It looks unconscious but I never do anything without a plan and a purpose. His friends stare. He doesn't mind. He is staring too. I can tell by the way his friends whoop and holler and pat him on the back that he is regaling them with tidbits he is sure he remembers of the previous evening's activities. He's loving the attention I bring him but he's not really keeping track of me. I begin to work the crowd on the deck. Not yet gentlemen. Not yet.

Suddenly I catch a flash of black. And blue. The blue is color of the ocean. It was just the ocean Tara. But if it was just the ocean, why do my knees feel all wibbly wobbly. Control Tara. Stay in control. There is still the shopping to come. And the next yacht to think about.

I hear the laugh at the same time I turn. My eyes meet hers, not black just very very dark brown. She looks as startled as I am and breaks the connection first. She's still with the billionaire but she's not nearly as close today. Her con is over. She's just hanging on to him until she chooses her next mark. From the looks of the rocks around her neck she's already been shopping. I continue to stare and she starts to blush. The billionaire is at her side. He thinks he's said something witty and she gives an obligatory laugh. I know that laugh. Its not a laugh of appreciation. It's the laugh of someone who is only half paying attention. Why does she keep squeezing his arm? They move through the crowd making sure that they are seen by everyone but she's not not thinking about him anymore. I know exactly what she is thinking. I know the effect I have on people. I count on it. It's my control.

The woman flashes her eyes my way again and I lose that control. Was that a warning? Or an invitation? I feel uncertain. I never feel uncertain. I am in control. This woman has control as well. She controls the crowd with her presence. It seems effortless but she is fully aware. It's not about her looks, not that she isn't beautiful. She's probably the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, well present company excepted. The crowd just seems to part for her. It's as if they are in the presence of royalty. They still look but they look through lowered lashes, around corners and from behind sun glasses. This woman is definitely a grifter. No one with this kind of control over a group of people could be anything else. And now she's in my territory. On MY yacht. Oh yes this woman must be dealt with, sooner rather than later. Just how I'm going to deal with her, I have no idea.

The woman senses all of this and probably a whole lot more. Damn. I can't stop looking at her. Can't stop thinking about her. Can't think of anything else. No control.

I've never been in love. Never wanted to be. Emotions just get in the way of what I want. It occurs to me as I watch the dark eyed woman work her crowd that this is someone I could seriously be in love with. It's never been about gender with me. I like beautiful people. I like beautiful people with money. I like yachts. Yes yachts and beautiful bodies are definitely a plus. I idly wonder if she might have a yacht. Yes the dark eyed woman and a yacht. What a wonderful little day dream. And all this time she pretends not to acknowledge me. That throws me for a loop. How can I be in control if she doesn't care about what I am doing? Wait! What was that? Did she just sneak a peek my way? Was that a smile? Well well well. I am having an effect on her. About time. I've been working so hard at it. Why does this make me feel so happy? Control Tara. Stay in control. You're here working. Where did that Greek go anyway. Isn't he supposed to take me shopping? Suddenly shopping is not so important to me. This is just not right.

Finally I can't stand it anymore. I need to meet this woman. Nothing else seems to matter in the way that this does right now, right this second. I follow her inside to the bar where she orders another glass of wine. It's the most expensive wine the Greek brought on board. Figures. Nothing about this woman is cheap. She expects, no she demands the best. Well she's about to experience my best. We're going to hash this out. After all I have staked this territory and she needs to go. Go where? Do I want her to go? I'm not sure any more. My god Tara, get control of yourself. This is business.

I slide up close to the woman. Too close. I brush her shoulder with my breast and I see her stiffen. She doesn't turn and I need to squeeze myself between her and the gentleman trying to gain her attention. "I'm Tara" I say in my bad Italian. "I hope you are enjoying the view." What?! The view? The view?! The party Tara! The party! The woman smiles and takes my hand. Her hand is soft and warm. She shakes mine with a gentle but firm grip. She answers me in perfect Italian. I have no idea what she said. I think she said her name is Portia. My mouth goes dry as I try to wrap my lips around that. Suddenly I can't speak any words, Italian, English, Klingon, nothing. I feel a bit foolish. I am still holding on to her hand. Jesus Tara! Get a hold of yourself. To cover my embarrassment I order a glass of wine. I definitely do not need wine. Cold water maybe. Splashed in my face. Bring be back to my senses.

I have nothing left to say to the woman so I take my glass and slink off to the bow of the boat. It's less crowded here. I lean against the rails and let the cool wind blow across my face. It's better out here. It's not so stifling hot. I can think out here. I can make a plan. I need a plan or I am going to blow this con and my chance at any more here. I don't want to have to leave Sovorato. I love Sovorato. So many beautiful yachts in Sovorato.

I feel her before I hear her. She comes up next to me and leans her beautiful body against the rail. She is wearing sea blue not the fabulous red I saw her in last night. Red is definitely her color but this is works too. I wonder what she looks like under that sea blue dress and my mouth goes dry again. I try again to talk to her in my bad Italian and she laughs. What did I say this time? God this is so embarrassing. How can one person among all of these lovely millionaires throw me so far off my game? Where is that cool control I seem to be so proud of?

She leans a little bit closer, commanding my eyes back to meet hers. Resistance is futile. I laugh at myself to that. I heard that somewhere and it seems to fit. "American?" She asks, the wind carrying her voice away from me so that it's barely a whisper I hear. I nod. "Well" she says in a perfect British accent "we shall speak in English then because your Italian really sucks." I laugh at her choice of words. The low class word sounds so strange in her high class accent. "I want to thank you Tara" she says. "This really is a lovely party". "And a lovely view". I feel the hot red embarrassment again in my cheeks and she laughs.

Portia and I spend the rest of the afternoon chatting about fabulous places we've been. The best places to shop. Never openly flirting. Never talking business. The Greek and the billionaire are all but forgotten.

The boat docks and we disembark quickly. Together. I will come back to get my things later. Or not. All I know is that I want to be with her. Portia my beautiful smoldering hot dark eyed woman. I suggest a beautiful little restaurant high on the cliff overlooking the harbour and she agrees. This makes me happy. Walk barefoot along the beach back towards town then hail a cab. The cab driver looks stunned when he sees the two of us and nearly runs us over in his haste to be the first car there. We do make a stunning pair I think. My lights to her darks. My Yin to her Yan. I don't have a clue who Portia is but I desperately want to know more. I could love this woman I think. Tara! I scold myself. Get yourself under control. This is nothing more than a dalliance. A bit of fun before the next job. And I still don't have a clue what Portia is here for. A girl can dream can't she?

The dinner is lovely and the view is beautiful. Both of the views are beautiful. Other customers are openly staring and for once I don't care. I have other things to think about. Portia. Portia is older than I am but how old, I don't have a clue. She wears the air of royalty but I am still sure she's a grifter like me. An actress playing a role. A pretender? No. She's not pretending to be anything. She is who she wants to be and I suspect she can change her skin with little or no effort. Like slipping off a costume. What is underneath I wonder. How I would love to see what is under that sea blue silk skin. My cheeks turn hot and I hope she doesn't notice.

I let myself have too much wine and from the shine in Portia's eyes I can tell that she has had too much as well. Giving up control buy getting drunk is dangerous for a grifter. That's how grifters go out of business. Permanently. I don't often let myself get more than just a little buzzed and I suspect that she doesn't either. Still she seems to have the upper hand on me. Does she know what those dark chocolate brown eyes are doing to me?

Portia grins at me. Did I say any of that out loud? Is she reading my mind? Or am I letting my desire for her l show? Once again my mouth goes dry and I reach for my wine glass. This is starting to feel like a medical condition. She catches my hand and brings it back down to the table. She lets her hand rest on top of mine. I shiver just a bit and she looks concerned. I shake my head. It's nothing. Nothing to do with you. Maybe I'm just a little bit cold. She's not buying the con and I try to pull my hand away but she holds me in my place.

"Tara" she starts. "I..um..." She tries again and I finally see her beautiful facade slip just a tiny bit. She's flustered. She doesn't know what to do or say next. She's out of control. I should pounce. This might be my only chance to take what I want. Any other time I would have already sealed the deal. We'd be halfway to the most expensive jewelry store in town. But I can't do it. God I can't even move. I have no words to say. No plans for my next move. Control Tara. Get yourself under control. You don't want to, no you can't let her get away. Why? There is no con, no hook. Like hell there isn't. But this time I'm the one who is hooked. And I still have no idea what the game is.

She takes a big gulp of her wine and tries to steady herself. I've pulled my hand away and that seems to have bothered her. Maybe we really are thinking the same thing. "Tara we need to talk." Oh crap. I know what that means. Talking is never a good thing. She tries one more time. "Tara I'm not... um...I mean I've never...I don't know..." I desperately want to relieve her pain. To tell her it's all right. But this is one she's going to have to figure out for herself. Not that I can't help her out a bit. I swing myself around to the other side of the table so now we are bare shoulder to bare shoulder bare knee to bare knee. We are not quite touching but I can feel the air crackling between us. She looks flustered again. Oh dear. I think it didn't helped. Ok maybe it didn't help her but it definitely did something to me. Damn dry mouth. I need to see someone about this. She may not know what she wants -yet -but I do. I'm hungry and she sees that in my eyes. Once again she pulls herself together and throws out the words fast. "Tara I'm not a lesbian." There. She did it. Cue the awkward pause. "I mean I like you and there's nothing wrong with that and you certainly are beautiful enough but I've never been that way". She looks relieved that she finally got it out on the table but at the same time she is concerned that she might have hurt my feelings. I lean closer and touch her hand as it clutches her wine glass like it's the only thing holding her to her place. "It's ok darling" I say softly enough that only she can hear. "I'm not a lesbian either. I just want to know you better. I want to touch you and hold you. I promise I will never do anything that makes you uncomfortable. You will have all the control in the world."

Again I am not sure if I have helped her or not. Maybe she just can't go there. Can't slip into that skin. She wants to I can tell. She very much wants to. She drinks more wine. I plead to her with my eyes. I can wait if she wants. Play the long con. But this isn't a con is it. Is it? Maybe it is but who is the mark? Is it me? That would be a laugh wouldn't it? The great Tara Cole being reined in by another grifter. By a sexy body. By her own game. Yes that would be quite a laugh. I look again at her face then down the front of her dress. For some reason I just can't control myself. I don't believe I would mind being conned by Portia. No I would not mind one bit. Did she catch me looking? No control. No control at all. I sigh.

Portia is staring at my face. She's trying to read me. Am I serious? Is she serious? Could she ever be with me? I silently will her to answer yes. She reaches for more wine and I stop her. If this is going to happen it's going to happen sober. I want her to be thinking clearly here. I want her to make the choice for herself. I want her never to regret her choice. I don't know why I want these things. I thought I just wanted her. No. I don't just want her. Not just for a hot night of sex and then never to see her again. I want this woman in my life. I have never wanted anything this much before.

Clearly she is still struggling with herself. I slide closer moving at what seems like millimeters at a time. She doesn't move away. I take a chance and reach out to touch her shoulder. She lets me and I lay my whole hand on her and I feel the burning hot skin. My face is very close to hers now. The next move is up to her. She blinks. She sighs. She still won't look at me. The battle has been won. Or has it been lost? It's time now to find out who the victors are and who goes home alone. The pupils in her beautiful eyes dilate until they look full black. She starts to move and then hesitates. Which way was she going to go? Was she coming to me or readying herself to flee the restaurant? I can't read her expressions at all. We sit there for a million and one years, our faces almost touching, our breath mingling before she finally makes up her mind. She slowly leans my way. Her face tilts toward mine. Her luscious red lips brush against my mouth. My heart skips a beat.  
>I lean back into her and press her for more. Is she really ready for this? She responds. Slowly at first and then the woman inside the skin takes over and she gives herself fully. My god this woman is hot. My hand is still on her shoulder and I pull her even closer. Her hand drops to my bare thigh. I shiver again but this time there is no need to explain. She felt the same shiver along her own spine.<p>

People are openly staring now. I don't mind putting on a show once in a while but that clearly is not what Portia wants. That is definitely not her style. I feel her body stiffen and the kiss falls away. Her hand is still on my thigh. She is holding it very tight. It feels very good. I whisper that my apartment is just down the hill. We can walk. I love to walk. Especially at night. Especially with someone beautiful. And my god is Portia beautiful. She gives me a tentative nod. I leave money to cover the food and wine. Damn. I never pay for anything myself. And yet I find myself parting happily with my hard earned money. I'll bet Portia never pays her own way. Why would she. Not when she's hooked the likes of me.

I slide my arm around Portia's waist as we leave the warm restaurant. It's cooler now and she is shaking. I pull her closer to keep her warm. She is certainly keeping me warm. I want to walk fast. To get down the hill to my apartment in seconds but Portia is moving slow. She's still not sure she's going to go through with this. I pull her just a bit tighter into me and whisper in her ear. She relaxes. Good we will be there soon.

What will happen next I have no idea. I am playing this full of cool confidence and control but in reality I don't have too much experience myself. Men are much easier to seduce than women. Men are easy to control. I've had some experience with women but it was always just for a bit of fun, always the student and never the teacher. But that's not what I'm playing this for. I want to go long on this one. I want to see where this might take me. Could two grifters even coincide no matter how close they are? I'm not sure. I work alone. Always have always will. I suspect Portia feels the same way.

We arrive at the door to my apartment and I search for my key stuck somewhere down the front of my dress. Damn it Tara. A rookie mistake. Always have the key ready. Don't let the mark have time for doubts. Is Portia my mark? Why did I even think that?

I finally find the key and open the door and Portia peeks in. She wrinkles her nose. She doesn't think I see it but I do. She tries to hide it, to distract me by bumping gently into me. I look inside. It's really not much. A small kitchen. A sitting room and a bed. I don't need much. I don't really live here. It's just a place I keep my stuff. It's a base of operations while I am not out sailing on my newest yacht. I see the clothes and bath towels on the floor and I sigh. This is not the part of me I wanted to show Portia. She smiles at me and says it's ok. That she does the same thing. I don't believe her but it makes me feel better anyway.

I wave my arm toward the kitchen. "Would you like anything? I think might have some tea". She shakes her head no. She's trying not to lose her nerve. She needs my help? She needs me? I reach for her. She lets me pull her into my arms and I wrap her up tight. "Do you want to dance" I ask. She nods and I lower my hands down her body to her hips. She stiffens slightly then slowly relaxes. My hands slide down to her hips. I don't feel a panty line. Oh my god that makes me hot. She starts moving to a rhythm in her head and I try to follow her lead. I don't want her to know that my knees are weak and my hands are shaking. Other parts of my body are moving too. A wonderfully warm feeling starts deep in my abdomen and begins to work its way out. I wonder if Portia is feeling the same. I look into her face but her eyes are closed and I can't read her. A thought creeps into my head. "Damn she's good". No. We're good. We're going to be great. I pull her closer. She doesn't resist and she doesn't open her eyes. She starts to press her hips farther into me. The warmth grows again. Surely she must be able to feel it. There is only layers of silk between us and suddenly that is too much. I reach behind her to unzip her dress." No "she whispers. "Let me." She steps back and lets the sea blue dress slide to the floor. I am stunned by her beauty. She is so much more than even my wild imagination could have created.

She is thin but not as thin as I thought. And muscular but not the way that I am with my defined muscles and physical strength. She definitely takes care of herself but there's something else. She has fat. No not fat...padding. Her lines are covered. Round and soft and curvy like a woman should be. Don't take Portia for being soft though. Or weak. There is a great power lying just below those wonderful curves. She's not embarrassed per say by my eyes wandering her naked body. More curious. Wondering what I am thinking. Is she what I expected? Of course she knows. She just wants me to tell her and I oblige with a murmur of appreciation and a nod of desire. And looky there. I was right. No panties. Apparently the Italian aristocracy does not wear undergarments. Good to know.

She moves back into me pressing her bare breasts into the exposed skin on my chest. "Your turn" she growls in a voice full of lust and greed. I thought she had never done this before? Is this the same woman who couldn't even talk to me just a few minutes ago? I thought I was in control. I thought I was going to be the teacher and she would be the student. She stares at me her eyes turning black. I start to reach behind me. "No" she growls at me again. "Let me". She walks around me letting her opposite hand trail across my midsection. Surely she can feel that I am on fire from the inside out. She slowly unzips my dress letting her fingers linger in the spaces it creates. The dress drops slowly to the floor and she continues her circumnavigation back to the front. That hand still marking its line around me. She stops to look then smiles. I blink. I feel naked all of a sudden. The panties. I'm still wearing my little pink panties. She laughs and orders me to "take those silly things off". This was the first lesson Portia would teach me but it would not be my last.

I shed the panties unceremoniously feeling a more than a bit embarrassed. It isn't long before I regain some sort of control over myself and we both relax. I reach for hands. First one and then the other. I kiss her. Softly at first and then more intently as she responds and kisses me back. I walk slowly backwards toward my bed, never breaking contact with her soft mouth. She tastes like wine and woman and I never want this kiss to end.

It does end though as the back of my knees hit the edge of the bed, buckling them and propelling me into a backwards flop onto the bed. I am still holding Portia's hands and I pull her down on top of me awkwardly. "So this is how it is done" she laughs. She offering some control back to me and I grab at it. How many times can I make a fool of myself in front of this woman and live to tell the tale? More is the answer. Many more. I just don't know it yet. I laugh too and roll her off of me to the center of the bed.

The lights in the apartment are off. We don't need them with the bright full moon shining through the window. It bathes the white linens in an ethereal glow, Portia's curves throwing shadows when she breathes. She's barely moving now though. The moment of humor has gone. Her eyes are black and shiny in the moonlight. She's scared. And excited. "I will be gentle" I promise her silently. " I won't let you regret this." She nods as if she knows what I am saying. I slide up next to her. I roll on top of her. She gasps and moves her legs to squeeze against mine. I stifle her sound with a kiss. A soft kiss but one that reaches deep inside to the core of her being. She melts beneath my touch. I roll over her to my side where I can watch her face. I show her where I like to be touched, guiding her hand slowly over my body. Her eyes watch mine intently, wondering if she is doing this right. My murmurs of approval reassure her and her hand begins to move faster. Her hand dips low between my legs and finds its spot. Oh God. She reaches deeper and I hold my breath. I grab at her hand and pull it to a stop . No. Not yet my dear. Not yet. You still have so much to learn. I leave her stilled hand in its place and I turn my attention to her warm soft skin. I touch her in places I know she will like and in places she never knew existed. Up and down her body. Around and around. In and out. Up and down and back in. She groans and twitches and I know she is close. She begins to move her hand again and we begin to move in perfect rhythm. The twitches grow stronger. The gasps are louder. Portia's eyes shine brighter. Suddenly the world explodes in a flash of light and color. At this moment nothing in the world exists but me and Portia and this room and this moon. She pulls me tight as her body responds in time with mine. "Bloody hell Tara" she whispers in my ear. "Bloody hell."

We spend the rest of the night and most of the next day holding each other and exploring each other inside and out until we are both hungry and exhausted. Portia languishes in the tub while I jog down to the bakery on the corner. I return with a loaf of bread and a bottle of questionable vintage. Portia wrinkles her nose. This is her tell I think. She disapproves of my choice but is too much of a lady to say anything. A lady. Ha. If the rest of the world knew what she could do with those soft fingers, lady would not be the first word they would think. I smile broadly at that. Portia looks at me and shrugs. I have a wicked

sense of humor and I'm not yet sure she will appreciate all of my wild thoughts.

We eat our bread and drink our wine until we're half past tipsy. We tumble back into bed but tonight is different. Tonight we will get to know each other. We spend the night cuddling and talking and letting our fingers roam of their own free well.

The more I learn about Portia, the more I learn to love. She hails from a once wealthy northern Italian family. She was educated at Oxford where she studied both classical and modern languages. She is gifted with tongues and I'm not sure even she knows all of the languages and dialects she can speak. She is indeed a grifter but not in the way I am. Her game is the long con while I prefer the short. She's not interested in diamonds and jewels. Not that she doesn't have any. She has a blinding array of expensive jewelry she tells me. Men give it to her of course. If not and if it suits her, she does what she calls a lift but jewelry is not her end game. Portia likes art. Portia likes expensive art. Portia likes art that has been stolen and passed from dealer to dealer until it reaches her hands where it disappears and people wonder if it ever really existed at all. And Portia likes the game.

She tells me she met her billionaire in Greece, Kephelonia to be exact. She had been working in an auction house there, one known for passing Greek artwork of questionable provenance. She worked there for almost 3 months establishing her cover as an expert in Ancient Greek artifacts. She knew her billionaire would arrive and she knew that the pieces he was looking for would never make it to auction. Millions of dollars passed through her hands as the artifacts were moved from her hands to the billionaire. I questioned her about that and she patiently explained, again, that her cons are rarely about money. They are about conquest and acquisition and having something that no one else will ever have. Money is never something she worries about. Someone will always give her money for something or other.

"Just like Wonder Woman" she said, she let down her hair and removed her glasses and charmed her way onto the billionaire's yacht as he smuggled the artifacts from the country. When they made landfall she intended to relieve him of his ill-gotten gains and move on to the next conquest. But first the billionaire wanted to take her to a party. A young friend of his had been bragging about a woman he had met and the billionaire wanted to put him back in his place with a much finer woman on his arm. I laughed along with Portia at that. Best laid plans and all that. Both men had left Sovorato alone and neither of us had gotten what we wanted. Or had we?

We spent the rest of the summer in that little apartment in Sovorato. Portia taught me about wine and running the long con. She taught me that it is ok for me to use my body but that it was not ok to let others use it. She taught me that big boats and colorful rocks were not really what life was all about. She taught me about Ancient Greek art and Italian painters, works that can be easily forged and others that already have been. She taught me about languages and accents and how to do the perfect lift. She told me that I was a talented grifter but that I still had a lot to learn in order to survive for long in the business.

She taught me mind tricks more subtle and less dangerous than the skin tricks that I rely on. She calls them cold reads, micro expressions, mimicking and NLP. Neural Lingual Programming or something like that. We practice our tricks on the beautiful people. We push as far as we can but we always go home together.

I taught Portia about the freeness of swimming naked in the ocean and I took her to all the funky little restaurants and dance clubs I had found. I taught her to relax and just enjoy the passing of time. To lie on the beach and drink Italian cocktails. To stay in bed all day. To let go and just be herself. I like to think I taught her a few other things too.

September and the first storms of the year came too soon. I was lying in bed, listening to raindrops on the roof of my apartment and replaying the events of the previous evening. With a smile and a twinkle in my eye I stretch and reach for Portia but she is not there. She is gone. She didn't leave me a note or a clue, just a head full of steamy memories and a lingering tingle on my skin. With a heavy heart I searched the island hoping to find a sign of her but deep inside I knew it was over. It never was a relationship that we had. It was a bit of fun for her. Something new for her to experience. A place to lay over for the season. A rejuvenation before moving on to the next con. I suppose I needed to learn that lesson once again. Never let emotions get in the way of the con. Never again. Stay in control at all times. Fun is fun but it is not life. The game is life and it's time for me to go play the game.

Portia. Northern Italy. Studied language at Oxford. That's all I really knew about her. Did she never even tell me her last name? Did she ever ask for mine?

I would look for Portia for almost two years. When I finally find her we won't be in Italy anymore. And her name will not be Portia.


End file.
